LOST: Gloriosa
by LejindaryBunny
Summary: Ben and Charles are playing a game that may be the longest con of all. When Widmore’s other daughter crashes with 815 will she become a pawn in their game, or is she destined for a much greater role? AU no time travel Ben/OC? Sawyer/OC?
1. Chapter 1

Gloriosa

A LOST fanfiction

Disclaimer: LOST and all of its characters and situations belong to… well, Disney, actually. Isn't that weird? And I certainly wouldn't presume to own Ben… Circe Widmore *is* mine however.

Summary: Ben and Charles are playing a game that may be the longest con of all. When Widmore's other daughter crashes with 815 will she become a pawn in their game, or is she destined for a much greater role? (AU no time travel Ben/OC??? Sawyer/OC???)

Episode 1: Co-Pilot

"I just finished the final edits," the author said with a smile. "That's why was in Sydney. Had to give the manuscript to my agent."

"Mmm." Circe brushed the loose bits of her stark white bangs back into the rest of her long, raven colored hair and drummed her fingers on the arm rest. "Couldn't you ya know, email it to him?"

Gary Troup shook his head. "My agent, Mr. Black is very traditional. I'm surprised he doesn't expect my books in longhand."

Troup laughed at this, but Circe only managed a polite smile. The conceited writer had been interesting to talk to for a while, but he'd been talking about his new book, _Bad Twin_ for almost half an hour. It was some DaVinci Code style potboiler by the sound of it, all flash and no substance. Not that there was anything wrong with flash, but you had to be able to back it up.

The young woman shifted in her seat. Out of the corner of her she saw some dark haired guy flitting with a flight attendant. She sighed. It was going to be a long flight.

"So, what are you going to LA for?"

000

Circe wiped her brow as she pushed through the mob of people, dragging the trunk behind her. Some of them turned to glare at her as she shoved them aside, her head down and her teeth gritted.

"'Scuse me, pardon me. Invader coming through."

Weren't they supposed to treat guests better than this? Not to mention it was sweltering in the convention hall, even though it was only early spring in the southern hemisphere. Technically, she realized it was the first day of spring.

That didn't make up for the fact that she was dying of thirst and about to be late for her second panel.

She found the door, and pulled it open, barging through it, and up the isles to the speaker's table. Moran and Sceurman were already there. The former was smirking at her, again; the letch. She was painfully aware that her pale blue tank top was probably see-through by this point. A few members of the crowd got up and applauded her as she took her seat. That put Moran in his place.

Circe wished they'd asked Jerome Clark to come instead of them. At least that little preacher-looking troll had had the decency to buy her a drink before ogling a girl a half his age.

The panel moderator raised his eyebrow at her. Ready?

She nodded and grabbed the bottled water on the table, downing about half of it in one gulp.

The moderator smiled and walked up to the podium. "Folks, I'd like you to welcome Mark Moran and Mark Sceurman, authors and editors of the Weird US series, and to Miss Circe Widmore maintainer and primary writer of the 'Finding Fairyland' blog. As I'm sure you've all guessed, since it's included in your program, this is a panel discussion on so called "Vile Vortices, and High Weirdness Locations". I have a list of pre-submitted questions, and should time allow we will take more questions towards the end of the session. Gentlemen and lady, are we ready?"

The authors gave their ascent, and the moderator drew a card from his stack of three-by-fives.

"This is a question for all of you from Tim S. in Sydney. He asks 'Do you believe that strong electromagnetic fields are likely to cause high abnormality, or vice versa?'"

Sceurman looked at the two other authors before starting to answer. Circe shrugged. It was a dull question nobody knew the answer to. They were related in some way, obviously, but nobody had yet determined cause and effect.

"Well, if I may start," Sceurman said, "obviously there are two theories on that."

The crowd laughed.

Circe finished off her bottle of water, and motioned for one of the security guys to bring another.

000

"Mm?" she wrinkled her nose, trying to figure out what Gary had said a moment before while she was daydreaming. Her father, bless his husk of a heart, said that she wrote about fairyland so damn much because she was always off in it.

"I asked why you were heading to LA."

"Oh. I live there."

"Really?" Gary asked, raising his eyebrows, "I thought from your accent you were Australian."

"Nope. British. Haven't been there in ages, though." She added the last part to ensure he wouldn't ask her about the queen's health, or bangers and mash, or any of the other inane things people inevitable asked when they found out you were from England.

The two of them both paused as some jerk flew up the isle toward the bathroom, followed by airplane staff. Circe gazed after him, sure she'd seen him before.

"Couldn't stand the weather, huh?"

She grimaced, her attention snapping back to the author but was saved from making a meaningful response when the plane shuddered under a bought of turbulence.

The Seatbelts sign went on with a 'bing' noise.

"Ladies and gentlemen the pilot has switched on the fasten seatbelts sign. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

Circe strapped herself in, and nodded to him. "Don't want to fall off the plane."

"Er, right."

Troup kept talking, but she ignored him, holding the armrests as the turbulence got steadily worse. This was hardly her first time flying, but that didn't mean she had to like it. She tried to breathe deeply.

The plane jolted even more violently, and several rows ahead of them a man was thrown into the air where he bounced against the ceiling.

"What the hell?" Troup gasped.

Yellow air masks were vomited from above the baggage compartments, dangling down in front of the 815 passengers. Now Circe felt panic fluttering around in her stomach like frightened starlings. Or maybe that was the drop in pressure.

She grabbed the air mask and clamped it to her face.

'Of all the damned flights the con had to pick,' she thought desperately, 'they picked this one. Well, they can sure as hell forget having me back next year.'

And then the plane made a horrible noise.

000

Ben stepped out of his house and into the bright sunlight, sparing a moment to glance at Juliet before he strode forward. He walked ahead of the rest of his people massing them on the common lawn, all of them brought outside by the same thunderous shaking that had drawn Ben away from his piano. Like them he looked up at the sky. Unlike them, he already had an inkling of what was going on.

Ben shielded his watery blue eyes from the sun as he gazed upward. Overhead a plane was crashing. They watched as it split into three pieces crashing to the island.

Ben could sense that there were opportunities here that were not to be wasted. "Goodwin," he said, glancing over at him. "Did you see where the tail landed?"

The man rushed over. "Yeah, probably in the water."

"You run and you can make that shore line in an hour." He nodded toward the direction the tail had crashed, not waiting to see Goodwin's reaction. Whether he knew what he had done or not was irrelevant.

Ben looked at the rest of the crowd and made a quick decision as to who would be the best man for the more difficult mission. "Ethan," he called, as the tall surgeon came forward, "get up there to that fuselage. There may actually be survivors; and you're one of them. A passenger— in shock. Come up with an adequate story if they ask. Stay quiet if they don't. Listen, learn, don't get involved. I want lists in three days." He looked back and forth between the two men, indicating that these instructions applied to both of them. He mentally reviewed what he had said. Was there anything further? No. "Go."

The two of them broke apart and ran.

Now that that was done, he turned his attention back to Juliet. Where had she been all morning? He stepped toward her, and looked at the book she was holding. Stephen King. Touching the cover gingerly he had to suppress a frustrated chuckle.

"So I guess I'm out of the book club."

000

Circe felt the warm sun streaming onto her face and wondered who she was going to kill for leaving the blinds open the night before. Neither of her roommates could be that stupid, could they? Well, it must have been a rough night, Circe felt her head pounding, and her mouth tasted bad­­­­­- like copper. No, not copper, blood. And there was something desperately wrong with her bed.

As some of the fog receded from her brain she realized that she could not possibly be in her bed— not unless it had turned to sad overnight.

And then she realized people were screaming.

Her eyes snapped open, mismatched blue and brown staring up at the blindingly brilliant blue sky. Someone ran by her, kicking up bright yellow sand.

The plane— the plane must have crashed.

She leapt up, and looked around her, feeling sore, and unsteady on her feet, trying to understand what had happened. There had been some bad turbulence, and then what? Had she fainted?

Whatever may have happened, the scene now was chaos. Smoke and the whine of one still working jet engine filled the air. Dangerous debris was still falling. All around her injured passengers lay prone, or helped one another limp out of harm's way. Circe had yet to open her mouth, but everyone else was screaming.

"WAAAALLLT?!"

"Stay away from the gas. Stay there!"

She closed her eyes and tucked her chin into her chest, holding her hands over her ears, hoping desperately that the horrible scene would go away, that it was just a dream. But she couldn't shut out the screaming, or the engine's persistent whine.

"Give me a hand!"

Circe opened her eyes, tentatively, and saw a man only a few yards away in a tattered suit motioning for help. She recognized him from the plane; he'd been the man flirting with the flight attendant. He didn't look so smug now that he was leaning over an injured man, trapped by the engine under piles of debris.

"You, c'mon, come over here. Give me a hand!" he beckoned to her desperately.

She made up her mind, and hurried forward, kneeling down, and along with the man in the suit, and two other men, grabbed the wreckage.

"On the count of 2," the man said, "1, 2— 3!"

Circe hefted the debris; it seemed to be a pole, or pylon, with all her might, as the man in the suit pulled the injured man away. She sucked in a breath through her teeth as she saw his leg, a bloody mass that was hardly recognizable as a limb. The let go of the wreckage when he was out from under.

The man in the suit began to tie a tourniquet around the bloody leg, but another pitiable scream, distracted him, and he stood. "Okay, get him out of here. Get him away from the engine. Get him out of here."

As he left, Circe nodded to the bald man who'd helped lift the wreckage. "We'd better do that," she said. She noticed he had a large gash over one eye. Circe wondered if she looked any better.

He nodded, and looked down at the man. "Come on, son."

The grabbed the man under his armpits and hefted him up to his good foot. Circe couldn't think about the other one without cringing. Together they carried him, barely conscious, further away from the wreck.

Suddenly the bald man turned, letting go of the injured. Circe had to strain not to fall over under the sudden wait. She turned to see what had happened.

"Hey, hey, get away!" the bald man was calling. "Get away from there."

Circe had turned just in time to see Gary Troup get sucked into the gaping maw of the jet engine.

It exploded with a fiery fury that Circe felt more than heard as it threw her and everyone near back to the ground. She felt its heat wash over her, her eyes squeezed shut as she lay against the sand.

'I'm going to die, I'm going to die,' she thought. She felt small pieces of debris striking her back. She thought she heard larger ones falling. She felt something arm on her shoulder, and flinched.

But it was a hand, and from the voice that followed, she could tell it belonged to the bald man. "Are you alright, miss…"

"Circe," she supplied, turning gingerly over onto her side. The body of the injured man lay right next to her.

"Is he?" she asked.

"I think he's unconscious," the bald man says. "I'm John. Can you get up?"

"I think so."

"Good. Something tells me we'd all be better served a little further away from the plane."

She hefted herself up on arms that were weaker than they had been a few moments ago. Still once she was on her feet she said, "You want me to help carry him again?"

John smiled. "Sure, if you think you're up to it?"

She nodded. Even though the man was now total deadweight they managed to carry him a ways down the beach when the ground was rocked by a second explosion. Circe faltered, and winced, looking back to see what had blown up but she kept her balance, and her grip on the man.

"Some day," she breathed, feeling weak and used up.

"Some day," John agreed.

A dark skinned man with curly hair walked up to them as they righted their grip on the injured man. Circe eyed him with some suspicion.

"Here, let me help you carry him," the new man said, in a warm, faintly accented voice. He held out his arms. "Please."

Circe and John shared a glance, but by now Circe's arms were so tired, she acceded, letting the man take her place without protest. Why would a terrorist offer to help anyway? He was probably just an innocent passenger like them.

"Thanks," Circe said, as she followed John and the man a few more yards down the beach.

"You're welcome," he said, setting the man down gently. "This man is in bad shape. He needs medical attention," he observed.

"Yeah." Circe nodded. She reached back and tried to smooth her hair. A lot of it seemed to have escaped from the multiple rubber bands that had held it in intervals down the several feet of length. It was probably vain to be worrying about her hair at such a time, but she couldn't help it. "What's your name, anyway?"

"It is Sayid."

"Well, Sayid, I'm Circe, and this is John."

"A pleasure to meet you both." He cracked a slight smile, "though, I wish it was under different circumstances."

"Nice to meet you too, Sayid," John said.

Sayid regarded them. "I am going to go get a signal fire started, why don't the two of you stay here, in case he wakes up."

Circe nodded, collapsing to her butt in the sand.

"Good luck with that, Sayid," John said, sitting down as well.

The two of them say in silence with the injured man. Around them, the chaos was growing quieter as people began to huddle in small groups, the immediate danger seeming past.

Circe looked up at the sky, wondering how long it would be until they were rescued. On the horizon, clouds were moving in, starting to eat up the blue sky.

A shadow fell over them.

"Hey, Baldy, got a light?" asked a man with a strong southern US accent.

Startled, Circe looked up. Standing above them was a young, somewhat grizzled looking man, with an unlit cigarette in his hand.

"Nope, sorry," John said, smiling.

"How about you, Rapunzel?"

Circe grimaced, reminded of her old school nickname. She patted her pockets, and squinted up at him "I guess not. I had one in may carry on, though, if you want to help me look for it?"

"Why not. You want some help up, kiddo?" he reached a hand down, and hauled her to her feet.

Circe shook her hair out, and headed back toward the wreckage.

"Hey," the grizzled man said, striding alongside her. "What's this bag of yours look like?"

To be continued…

Author's Note: Thanks to the transcribers at Lostpedia for the dialogue in the Ben scene. It would have been a pain to type up. Um, also, Moran and Scheurman are real authors— I have not met them, but they write great books on local superstitions, and I'm sure they are awesome wonderful people. Their names were used in this chapter in a totally fictions and parodic manner that nobody should confuse for slander or libel. I just put them in because I think their books are cool (you should buy them!) and I wanted to add verisimilitude to Circe's flashback.

By the way, Gary Troup really is a LOST character, but you might not know that because he was only in the ARG. He really is supposed to be the one who gets sucked into the engine.

As for Circe, I hope you like her; obviously, you don't know everything about her yet. I tried to get Sayid and Locke and Sawyer in character, and not contradict anything in the first episode. (Circe takes the place of a random redshirt in that one scene) Um, I hope you liked the chapter. If you did, please leave me a review! I'll try to have the new chapter up soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Gloriosa

A LOST Fanfiction

Disclaimer: LOST and all of its characters and situations belong to… well, Disney, actually. Isn't that weird? And I certainly wouldn't presume to own Ben… Circe Widmore *is* mine however.

Summary: Ben and Charles are playing a game that may be the longest con of all. When Widmore's other daughter crashes with 815 will she become a pawn in their game, or is she destined for a much greater role? (AU no time travel Ben/OC??? Sawyer/OC???)

Episode 2: Co-Pilot pt 2

Circe had been so glad to find her pack laying in the sad beneath a small about of plane debris that she had allowed Sawyer (as the man had introduced himself) to hold on to her lighter for a while. She didn't smoke anyway; she just carried the old Zippo with her because it was cool. She'd had in since her last year of school.

Now the sky had dimmed to deep blue and early stars peeked out along the eastern horizon, where they weren't obscured by clouds. She sat down beside the main signal fire with Sayid and a young man who was scribbling on some tape around his fingers. He'd gotten as far as F A.

"Hey," she said, smiling at Sayid.

"Hello again, Circe," he said, without taking his eyes off the fire.

"It's getting a little chilly, huh?" Circe had been sitting with Sawyer while he smoked, but she'd been unable to find anything to put on over her tank top.

The young man looked up. He was blonde, and blue eyed. Circe felt like she had seen him before. "Er, you can have my sweat shirt if you like." He had a British accent.

She smiled and shook head. "Thank you, but I'll be alright. It's warm here."

"Say, are you from England too," he asked.

"London," she nodded, "But it's been a while. Have we, er, met before?"

He grinned. "Don't think so, but maybe you've seen me on the telly. I'm Charlie Pace."

Circe bit her lip, thinking, "Charlie Pace, Charlie Pace… not the guitar player from Drive Shaft?" The band had exploded in popularity a few years before, back when she'd still been going back and forth between England and the States.

"Got it in one," Charlie said. "Not everybody would have remembered."

"I knew a few girls in my class who had you pasted on the covers of their notebooks," she laughed. "I missed the song after I moved to America. Are you guys still touring?"

Charlie's face fell. "Er, not exactly. We were just about to do a reunion tour."

Circe wondered what had happened to break them up, but was too polite to ask. Instead she said, "Well, look at it his way, thanks to the crash I bet you guys'll get great publicity."

He brightened. "Hey, I bet you're right."

"I'm Circe, by the way."

"A pleasure."

They shook hands. Circe got some of the still-wet black marker on her hand.

"Er, sorry about that," Charlie said.

"Don't worry about it."

They sat in silence for a moment. Charlie went back to doodling on his fingers.

Circe looked over her shoulder and saw an extremely large man with dense, curly hair passing out in-flight meal tins.

She looked back over at Charlie and Sayid. "There's a guy passing out food. I'm going to get some. Either of you…?"

Sayid shook his head, but Charlie asked her to bring him some back. As she was walking away from the fire she heard Sayid speak.

"You think they would have come by now."

She kept walking.

"Hey, uh, you," she said, when she was close enough to the big guy. "You got a couple of those to spare?"

The man looked surprised at first. "Huh? Oh yeah, no problem." He handed her a pair of the tins, and some plastic silverware.

"Thanks," she said, "You're a real life saver."

"Yeah, well…"

"Don't be modest; somebody needs to think about the practical aspects of being stuck on a desert island." She paused. "What's your name?"

"It's Hugo. You can call me—"

Circe didn't find out what she could call him until later, because at that moment a strange metallic crashing noise broke through the jungle. As Circe turned her head to find the source of the noise she half expected to see a two-legged Imperial AT-AT stomping through the trees.

She saw nothing at all, but the sound continued, seeming to come closer. She followed Hugo and a growing number of others a little closer to the tree line to investigate. It was the Godzilla response. Get really close, and find out too late that you should have been running the other way.

To Circe's shock and amazement as another crashing, clanging noise reached their ears, some of the trees a little ways off shook, and bent.

"Did anybody see that?" someone asked.

"Yeah," breathed Hugo in disbelieve.

Circe wasn't sure she believed it either. What did that? A monster? A machine? If it was a machine, perhaps there were people there. An infrastructure of technology that would help them get home all the faster. But as the crashing continued, and was joined by a strange keening sound, somewhere between a whistle and a howl, Circe didn't believe that was the case.

Watching trees shake and bend as the source of the noise seemed to move great distances in an instant, Circe thought that it was much more in line with her studies in the paranormal and occult. She was about to go for her pack to get her EMF meter, when she cursed herself. She'd packed it in her main luggage, not her carry on.

The path of destruction continued for almost a minute, before fading away with a final, distant whine.

In front of her she heard Charlie half-whisper, "Terrific."

She couldn't help but agree with him.

000

A fifteen year old Circe stared fixedly at the strange plant like drawings in the book, before her father put his glass down on the page she was examining.

"Daddy!" she protested.

"Why don't you put that rubbish away and do something useful Circe. Shouldn't you be revising for your test this week?"

She silently cursed 'Involved Parent Charles Widmore'. Weren't rich old men supposed to ignore their children and let the help raise them?

"The Voynich Manuscript is NOT rubbish," she protested. "A cipher that goes back hundreds of years without being cracked is important no matter what it turns out to say. Besides, you're one to talk; I know you own plenty of weird old documents, and folk legends. Like all that stuff about the _Black Rock_."

Her father looked deeply affronted. "That's different. I know what casts the shadow I'm chasing. And be that as it may you are my daughter and you'll do as I say."

"Fine!" she shoved the book away, nearly dumping the glass of expensive alcohol. Her father picked it up, and swirled the liquid in the glass.

"Why can't you be more like your sister? She's got her feet on the ground."

Circe crossed her arms and looked away. "You wouldn't approve of Penny so much if you knew who she was dating," she muttered.

"What was that?"

000

On the second day, it rained. It was a hard, drenching rain that came suddenly, without warning and drove everyone on the beach to find cover, except for John, who stayed where he say, and seemed to glory in the rain.

Circe found herself shivering, huddled under a large piece of overhanging wreckage. She hadn't slept at all the night before, aside from perhaps a few moments of unconsciousness in the minutes before dawn, sitting beside the fire. She hadn't slept on the plane, either. She didn't feel tired, though; she felt like a dull electric current was running through her body.

She wished she had something to do to disperse the energy. Waiting around was killing her.

Eventually the rain tapered off, and as Circe came out of hiding she found herself face to chest with Sawyer.

"Hey there, cupcake," he drawled, grinning lazily at her.

"Hello, Sawyer. What can I do for you?"

He held up her lighter. "Came to return this to ya."

"You run out of cigarettes already?" she asked.

"Not quite. I found me another lighter."

"Oh, good." She smiled.

"Yeah, I found some more luggage over by the edge of the jungle. I thinking there might be some more if I head in a little further. You wanna come with?"

Circe considered the proposal. "We heard that thing again," she said. "While it was raining."

"Aw, ya'll aren't afraid of no boogie monster, are ya?"

She shrugged. "Not especially. How come I'm invited?"

"Might need somebody to help me carry the loot. Saw ya bench pressin' dead guys yesterday with Mr. Clean."

She snorted back laughter. "His name's John. And they weren't dead."

"Sure."

"And we should tell someone where we're going, in case we, you know, fail to come back."

"Anything you say, Rapunzel."

They didn't go particularly far into the jungle. They found a number of bags only a few hundred yards away from the beach. Sadly, they didn't find any of her luggage.

Circe pawed through a large green duffle bag. It had a lot of underwear and socks in it, and at first she was disappointed, until she reached further in, and found a glass bottle, miraculously undamaged, probably thanks to all the cotton padding.

She held it up and declare, "I found where all the rum's gone."

Sawyer looked over from where he was kneeling at some other bags. "Nice job kiddo. Say, are you old enough to have that stuff."

"I'm twenty-one," she lied.

He held out his hand, grinning. "Better let me hold onto it, just in case. But I'll remember it was you who found then big one."

000

When Charles Widmore strolled in the door that night Circe thought she hadn't seen her father look this happy in ages. He looked like the cat that had gotten a hold of the canary.

She looked up from her dinner, "Well, don't keep me in the dark, daddy. What's got you so excited?"

"Be patient Circe, and I just might tell you." Her was cradling a small wooden box like it was a baby. He set it on the mahogany dining table. He sat down across from her.

"Can you guess what it is?' he asked.

She studied it, and raised an eyebrow. "The ark of the covenant? A magic box?"

He chuckled. "Nothing quite so mundane, darling daughter. I'll give you a hint. It involves the _Black Rock_."

She stared at him, and she stared at it. In the years since Penny had left home, Circe's father had opened up to her just a little bit on the subject of his continuing quest. Nothing concrete, just enough to whet her appetite for the mystery.

"The _Black Rock_… It can't be, is it the journal?"

"Indeed. It is the first mate's journal, and it tells if a doomed journey."

This was better than the Voynich manuscript. It felt like it had a special, personal meaning for her. "Will you let me look at it?" she asked. Ashe practically begged. If there was one thing Circe loved, it was a mystery.

"Perhaps. It depends on what it says."

000

"Hey, look at what I found," Circe said, holding up a pair of shiny metal handcuffs.

Sawyer glanced over, and, instead of being amused, as Circe imagined, he frowned. "where'd you find those, Rapunzel?"

"They were over here, just sitting on the ground." She motioned to a patch of wet earth where she'd seen them gleaming in the mud. "You think they fell out of somebody's bag?"

"Could be, kiddo. Or could be somebody was wearin' 'em when we crashed."

Now Circe frowned too. She hadn't thought of that. "You know I think I remember some kind of policeman on the plane."

"Looks like we got ourselves a locked room mystery. You hand those over, and I'll try to figure out who done it."

She nodded and handed them to him. "I don't thinkwe can carry much more anyway. We should head back before they decide we were eaten."

"You're the boss, kiddo."

The each picked up a share of the bags from where they'd piled them.

Circe paused, straining to listen. She thought she heard the noise again. "Did you hear that?"

"Sounds like it's a long way off," he shrugged. "Let's go."

She wondered how he could be so nonchalant about it. "Is this your first time stuck on a creepy island?"

"I watched plenty of Gilligan's Island."

"Oh fantastic, you can build us a radio out of coconuts," she said wryly.

"Naw, that's McGuyver."

000

If Circe had realized they would start a fight between Sawyer and Sayid, she would have kept the handcuffs to herself. A ring had formed around them, as if it were a schoolyard scuffle, but the two were going at it with fists and curses.

She was exceedingly grateful when Jack turned up to help beak them up.

"Hey, break it up. Break it up," Jack said.

"Tell everyone what you told me. Tell them that I crashed the plane. Go on, tell them—"

"The shoe fits, buddy," Sawyer spat.

She watched as they were hauled off one another, and into separate corners.

Jack turned to the observers. "What is going on?"

Circe held up the handcuffs, guiltily. "I found these out in the jungle."

Sawyer raised his chin angrily. "This guy was sitting in the back row of business class the whole flight, never got up. Hands folded underneath a blanket. And for some reason, just pointing this out, the guy I saw next to him didn't make it."

"Thank you so much for observing my behavior," Sayid growled.

" Don't think I saw them pull you out of line before we boarded."

Sayid forced his way forward about to go after Sawyer again.

"Bring it."

A brunette woman stepped between them before Circe could. "Stop," she said.

Sayid slunk back, still glaring at Sawyer, who was returning the angry gaze.

The brunette kept talking, possibly just to keep the fight defused. "We found the transceiver but it's not working. Can anybody help?" She held up what looked like some kind of walkie-talkie, but was clearly supposed to get a much longer range

Sayid spoke up. "Yes. I might be able to."

"Oh great, let's trust this guy," Sawyer growled, still pissed over. Circe shot him a glance, but he didn't back down.

"Hey, we're all in this together, man. Let's treat each other with a little respect," Hugo called from the crowd. Circe agreed with him, wishing that cooler heads could prevail.

"Shut up, lardo," Sawyer snapped.

Circe saw the hurt look on Hugo's face and sighed, vowing to keep any new discoveries to herself, until she was sure they wouldn't cause a scene.

"Sawyer," she said.

"Mind your business, kiddo."

Circe was about to retort that it was her business when Jack cut it. "Hey, give it a break."

"Whatever you say, doc. You're the hero." Sawyer shot them all a last angry glance, and slunk away.

Circe hesitated and then went after him. "That wasn't very diplomatic," she said, after they were out of earshot.

"Yeah? Well I ain't no diplomat." He kicked a puff of sand up, and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket.

"Clearly."

To be continued…

Author's note: And that's the end of chapter two! As you can probably tell, we're still following the show's timeline pretty closely, although there are a couple of changes. Walt found the handcuffs originally.

There will be more of Ben soon, I promise. I can't keep that manipulative sneak away for too long 3

Just as an aside, I'm sure people know, but in case anyone doesn't, Circe's name is pronounced "seer-see".


	3. Chapter 3

Gloriosa

A LOST Fanfiction

Disclaimer: LOST and all of its characters and situations belong to… well, Disney, actually. Isn't that weird? And I certainly wouldn't presume to own Ben… Circe Widmore *is* mine however.

Summary: Ben and Charles are playing a game that may be the longest con of all. When Widmore's other daughter crashes with 815 will she become a pawn in their game, or is she destined for a much greater role? (AU no time travel Ben/OC??? Sawyer/OC???)

Episode 3: Co-Pilot Part 3

"I'd like to come with you."

Circe peered over her shoulder. There was a blonde woman approaching, followed closely by a man about the same age. Both of them looked angry.

"She's not going -- this is what she does," the man said.

"The hell I'm not! You don't know what the hell I do"

They came to a stop at the heart of the hike group, seemingly intent on continuing whatever argument they were having. Circe figured it was a lover's spat.

"She makes really bad decisions that upset her family, which at the moment is me!" the man growled.

"Shut up, and stop trying to be charming."

Circe shared a skeptical glance with Sayid. Kate didn't look any more enthused.

The blonde turned to look at the rest of them. "I'm coming with you!" she declared fiercely.

They all hesitated; Kate was the first to respond, "…I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Are you kidding me? She looks about fifteen!" the blond gestured angrily at Circe. She was about to respond in kind, but the blond kept going, cornering Charlie, "You're going, aren't you?"

Charlie didn't miss a beat. "Uh Yeah, are you?"

"Yep."

"Yeah, I'm definitely going," Charlie said.

Circe rolled her eyes. "Can we all just take a chill pill and go?"

Kate turned, and started to walk. "Yeah, we are leaving now."

Sayid, Circe, and the rest followed her, Charlie was last, still trying to placate the blonde. "You couldn't tell from that, but she's actually really nice." Circe wasn't sure if he was referring to her or Kate.

As they passed the threshold of the jungle Circe heard footsteps behind them and turned. At was Sawyer, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"Hey Sawyer," she greeted, waving at him.

"Hey yerself cupcake." He winked at her.

Kate turned to him as he caught up with the rest of them. "You decided to join us."

"I'm a complex guy, sweetheart."

There was some light banter as they hiked along, mostly fueled by Charlie and Shannon, as Circe discovered was the blonde woman's name.

Circe mostly tried to take in as much of the jungle as she could, with its unfamiliar plants and smells. It was beautiful in a way that she had never experienced before— a dangerous, unaltered beauty that had nothing to do with and no regard for people.

Eventually they came to a fairly wide clearing; the grass was up to their waists and the trees were spaced widely.

As they walked through, Sawyer said "Okay, wide open space. You should check the radio, see if we're good."

"We're not going to have any reception here." Sayid answered, not looking back.

"Just try it."

"I don't want to waste the batteries."

"I'm not asking you to keep it on all day."

"We're still blocked by the mountain," Sayid insisted.

"Just check the damn radio!" Sawyer growled. It was almost a shout, and it made Circe wince. Her nerves were already frayed and she did not want to see a repeat of their earlier fight, or even more of Shannon and Boon's bickering.

It was clear that Sawyer wasn't going to back down, so she said, rather more sharply than she'd intended, "Look, Sayid, what's the harm in—"

She stopped; they all did, hearing a weird, scuffling noise in the bushes. All of them whipped around to look for the source of the noise. Circe thought of the noises the night before, but there were not the same.

It was definitely moving, and coming toward them.

"Oh my god," Shannon gasped.

"What the hell is that?" Boone demanded.

"Something's coming," Kate answered.

"It's coming towards us," said Charlie.

"You think?" Circe was already turning to move. It might not be whatever had bent the trees, but that didn't mean that it wasn't bad news.

"C'mon, let's move," Kate said, now starting to run herself.

They all ran, but it hardly made a difference, whatever was in the tall grass was coming for them, and it was fast.

"I shouldn't have come on this hike!" Shannon screamed.

Circe kept running, until she heard Kate behind her shout, "Sawyer!"

Then Circe turned, and she saw him standing still, waiting for whatever it was. Sayid had grabbed Kate.

"Let him go!" Sayid told her, pulling her forward.

Circe was now frozen with awe, watching Sawyer face the thing down. Boone and Shannon brushed past her.

Then she saw why Sawyer wasn't running. He had a gun! She wondered where the hell he had got it. Out of the luggage they'd gone through? She hadn't seen it!

She saw a flash of something white through the grass, leaping at him. Sawyer fired. Once, twice, three times. Over and over, until she was sure he had unloaded the entire clip. The thing didn't stop, it just kept rushing towards him, until falling, as the final bullet was fire, almost on top of him. Sawyer scrambled backwards. Circe hurried over to meet him, and so did the others.

The thing was lying on the jungle floor, growling and groaning and writhing. Now that she could see it clearly, Circe realized that it was a massive white bear.

She looked at Sawyer, panting, "Are you alright?"

He looked down at her, and didn't seem to know what to say.

"That's a big bear," Shannon said.

Circe gulped back a laugh of disbelief. "Yeah."

"Think that's what killed the pilot?" Boone asked.

Circe saw Kate and Charlie share a look.

"No that's a tiny, teeny version compared to that," Charlie said, shaking his head, and holding his fingers less than an inch apart, to illustrate the size difference.

"Guys, this isn't just a bear. It's a polar bear," Kate said, voicing aloud what Circe had been thinking.

"That can't be a polar bear," Boone said, staring at it.

Circe raised an eyebrow at him. "What the hell do you think it is?"

"Polar bears don't live near this far south," Sayid said.

"This one does," Boone answered.

"Did," Sawyer said, walking around the dead bear. "It did."

Kate spun around to face him. "Where did that come from?"

Sawyer shrugged. "Probably bear village," he quipped. "How the hell would I know?"

"Not the bear, the gun," Kate said, gesturing at it.

For a moment everyone was silent until Sawyer answered.

"I got if off one of the bodies," he said nonchalantly.

"One of the bodies?" Sayid sounded skeptical.

"Yeah, one of the bodies," Sawyer insisted, daring him to disbelieve.

"People don't carry guns on planes," Shannon said.

Circe raised an eyebrow, also wondering how someone would get one of those through customs when she couldn't even bring her own nail file.

"They do if they're a U.S. Marshal, sweet cheeks. There was one on the plane."

Kate's eyes darted back to Sawyer. "How do you know that? She asked sharply. Circe wasn't sure but she thought she detected a note of panic in he other woman's voice.

Sawyer sighed. "I saw a guy lying there with an ankle holster so I took the gun. I thought it might come in handy," he explained, sounding exasperated. "Guess what? I just **shot a bear.**"

"So why do you think he's a Marshal?"

"Because he had a clip-on badge," he retorted, holding it up for everyone to see. "I took that too, thought it was cool."

Circe felt herself beginning to get dizzy. She didn't know if it was the heat or just the sheer bloody-mindedness of everyone around her. She held her hands up to her head. "Look, why does it even matter where he got it? A gun is a gun. Shouldn't we be grateful?"

"Why thank you for that, Rapunzel."

Sayid shook his head. "I know who you are," he said, looking daggers at Sawyer. "You're the prisoner."

Sawyer stared at him. "I'm the what?"

"You found a gun on a U.S. Marshal? Yes, I believe you did. You knew who he was because you were the one he was bringing back to the States. Those handcuffs were on you. That's how you knew there was a gun."

Circe held her palm against her forehead, and took a deep breath. She wanted to say that Sayid was just retaliating for Sawyer's earlier accusations, but she kept her mouth shut. The edges of the jungle blurred.

"Piss off," Sawyer spat.

"That's who you are you son-of-a-bitch."

"You're as suspicious of me as I am of you."

"But you are the prisoner."

"Fine, I'm the criminal. You're the terrorist. We can all play a part," he snapped, and turned to face Circe. "Who do you want to be?"

She lifted her head, trying to make sense of where the conversation had gone. "Guh?"

She didn't notice Kate had taken the gun until she was holding it in full view. "Does anybody know how to use a gun?"

Charlie started to speak, but Circe didn't hear him. The edges of her vision were going dark.

"Guys?" she pleaded. "Guys?"

Everything went black.

000

Circe fired one last time at the target that stood at the far end of the range. A bull's-eye. She nodded at Chris, the lanky black haired boy who had accompanied her, and they headed back to the door, passing a young latina on their way. Circe pulled her head-phone-like sound muffler down and handed it to the person behind the counter. Chris did the same thing.

"So, how come your dad got you a gun for your birthday?" he asked, pushing the door open and ushering them both into the bright sunlight in downtown LA.

She shrugged, walking down the street past shoppers and loiterers. "Got me a concealed carry permit too. He's paranoid about this enemy he's got?"

"For real? I mean, I know he's pretty loaded and all, but, seriously?" Chris put his hands in his pocket and walked ahead of her, facing backwards. He flipped his designer shades down from his head to his nose. "Mom hasn't had any problems like that."

"Yeah, your mom isn't Captain Ahab either. You know that ship he's always talking about? There's this guy; I'm not sure how he's connected, but dad says he is: says he's dangerous."

Chris raised his eyebrows. "Danger guy have a name?"

"Several, so I hear. Dean Moriarty, Benjamin Linus."

Chris laughed. "Linus? Doesn't sound very threatening."

"Yeah, somehow I doubt he carries a safety blanket."

They shared a chuckled.

"Bet your dad's glad you're here in LA. From what I hear you can't have a gun in 'jolly old'."

Circe smirked. "Yeah pretty much. He'd have to get me a bodyguard or something instead."

"Ouch, then they'd really know we're not actually dating."

"Oh, Chris," she sighed.

They walked together in a not quite awkward silence.

They'd come to 'the agreement' almost a year before. Like Circe, Chris was the child of a wealthy, and old-fashioned family. Un fortunately for him, he was also gay. So, to deflect the questions of his family, they claimed that he and Circe were dating.

They were great friends; Chris was charming and funny, and sweet. Circe knew that she ought to be attracted to him. Her problem was that she had horrible taste in men. Not to mention that she'd seen from her sister where following your heart away from the mainstream led. Desmond was still serving his sentence in military prison.

So Circe didn't let herself fall in love.

They'd probably end up married to each other, her and Chris. It would keep both their families happy, and they'd be free to pursue their own interests.

Simple.

000

Someone was shaking her.

"Kiddo, y'all right? Hey, wake up Rapunzel."

"Muh?" Her eyes fluttered open. Sawyer was leaning over her, a look of concern on his scraggly face. He was holding her gently up off the jungle floor. She cringed slightly, not used to being touched, but it did make her feel safe. "What happened?" she asked blurrily.

"Ya passed out, that's what happened," he said gruffly.

"It was probably the heat," Sayid said, calli8ng over from where he sat with Kate. Circe saw that they had taken the gun apart.

Circe kept silent, not wanting to admit that she'd come on the hike without having slept.

"Here, kiddo, have some of this." Sawyer proffered her his water bottle.

"Thanks, Sawyer." She glanced briefly at the Oceanic logo, and took a few sips before handing it back.

She started to get up; Sawyer pulled her the rest of the way to her feet.

He turned immediately back to Kate and Sayid. "Gimme back the gun."

Kate made a skeptical noise in her throat. "Why do you want it?"

"I don't know, freckles, how about in case there are any more freaking _polar bears_ around. I'm gonna take lady lovely locks here back to the beach."

Circe moved to protest, when Sayid spoke up.

"That may not be necessary, Sawyer. I believe I may be able to get a signal here." The Iraqi held up the radio.

"Oh, now's a good time to check the radio. Not before, but now." Sawyer sneered,

Perhaps wisely, Sayid ignored him this time.

Circe looked around the clearing. Charlie was absent mindedly playing air-guitar. Shannon was sitting on a rock glaring at the ground, and Boone was standing with his arms crossed.

"How long was I out?" Circe asked in a low voice.

He shrugged. "Minuet and a half. Two minutes." He saw where she was looking. "Don't you mind the lovebirds. Harpy there's just jealous of your fainting spell."

Circe snorted derisively. "Yeah, it was so much fun."

"Hey, we've got a bar," Sayid exclaimed. "Mayday, mayday."

The radio merely hissed and squealed.

"What is that?" Kate asked.

"Its feedback," Circe put in with a sigh.

"Feedback from what?" Kate asked, "What would do that?"

"I'll tell you what would do that," Sawyer answered with a frustrated grimace. "This guy not fixing the radio. This thing doesn't even work."

"It could be another signal," Circe said, leaning back and looking at the canopy of trees.

Boone stepped forward. "What do you mean another signal? Who'd be transmitting way out here?"

Circe shrugged.

Sayid shook his head. "She's right, we can't transmit because something else is already transmitting."

"Transmitting from where?" Charlie asked, suddenly back in the same mental sphere as the rest of them.

Sayid fiddled with the radio some more. "Somewhere close. The signal's strong."

"Somewhere close, you mean on the island, that's great," Charlie grinned.

"What kind of transmission is it?" Sawyer asked.

Sayid pursed his lips. "It could be a SAT phone, maybe a radio signal... Let me get the signal."

"The rescue party, it has to be," Charlie said.

The static suddenly resolved itself into another kind of gibberish. Someone was speaking clearly, but it wasn't in English.

Charlie for one, seemed to be delighted. "It's French, the French are coming. I've never been so happy to hear the French."

"Does anyone speak French?" Sayid asked.

Circe shook her head. "If it was German I could help you out."

"She does," said Boone, tossing his head at Shannon.

"No, I don't. What?" Shannon looked at him like he was crazy.

"What the hell are you talking about? You spent a year in Paris."

Circe shook her head with a sigh, and sat on the rock that the blonde had vacated, trying to tune out the ensuing argument. The battery on the radio was dying as the spoke.

Eventually it resolved that Shannon did speak a little French, and Circe listed to her amateur translation.

"She's saying, she's saying: "Please help me, please come get me."

"Or, she's not. You don't even speak French," Sawyer said with disgust.

"Shut up man," Boone snapped.

"The battery. The battery." Charlie insisted.

"Iteration 17294535.," the radio crackled, before proceeding in French again.

"I'm alone now, on the island alone," Shannon translated with sniveling hesitancy. "Please someone come. The others, they're, they're dead. It killed them. It killed them all."

"That was good," Boone cooed to her when she had finished.

Sayid looked up from his thoughts suddenly. "Sixteen years," he announced.

Circe's gaze snapped up. She stared at him. "_Sixteen years_?"

He nodded. "The iterations. It's a distress call, a plea for help, a mayday. If the count is right it's been playing over and over for 16 years."

Circe could feel the shock run through the rest of the group, a new kind of hopelessness. If this message had been playing for that long, would they ever be rescued?

"Someone else was stranded here?" Boone asked.

"Maybe they came for them," Kate said. Her hopefulness sounded false and hollow.

Sawyer shook his head, and flared his nostrils. "If someone came why is it still playing?"

They all stood there for a moment, taking in the news. Circe bit her lip. She felt something at this news, like they did, but what was it? Was it the same hopeless feeling of being cut off? Was it liberation, or just.. curiosity?

Charlie was the one who broke the silence, and the spell. "Guys," he said, "where are we?"

End of Co-Pilot

To be continued…

Author's Note: So, that's the beginning. Next chapter starts with Ben, I promise. That lil rat is important. 3 Oh um, I forgot to thank Lostpedia last chapter for the transcripts, and the timeline. I used them again, so thanks again, for all the hard work they put into it.

Also, there was a quick flash-cameo in this one, did anybody catch it?


End file.
